"I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles--I am sure of it," said
Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone. "I am bound to say
that everything which you have said agrees very closely with the
facts as they have come to our notice. For example, there was
that note which arrived during dinner. Did you chance to observe
what became of it?"

"Yes, I did. Garcia rolled it up and threw it into the fire."

"What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?"

The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was
only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes,
almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. With a
slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from
his pocket.

"It was a dog-grate, Mr. Holmes, and he overpitched it. I picked
this out unburned from the back of it."

Holmes smiled his appreciation.

"You must have examined the house very carefully to find a single
pellet of paper."

"I did, Mr. Holmes. It's my way. Shall I read it, Mr. Gregson?"

The Londoner nodded.

"The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without
watermark. It is a quarter-sheet. The paper is cut off in two
snips with a short-bladed scissors. It has been folded over
three times and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and
pressed down with some flat oval object. It is addressed to Mr.
Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says:

"It is a woman's writing, done with a sharp-pointed pen, but the
address is either done with another pen or by someone else. It
is thicker and bolder, as you see."

"A very remarkable note," said Holmes, glancing it over. "I must
compliment you, Mr. Baynes, upon your attention to detail in your
examination of it. A few trifling points might perhaps be added.
The oval seal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-link--what else is of
such a shape? The scissors were bent nail scissors. Short as
the two snips are, you can distinctly see the same slight curve
in each."

The country detective chuckled.

"I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of it, but I see
there was a little over," he said. "I'm bound to say that I make
nothing of the note except that there was something on hand, and
that a woman, as usual was at the bottom of it."

Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during this
conversation.

"I am glad you found the note, since it corroborates my story,"
said he. "But I beg to point out that I have not yet heard what
has happened to Mr. Garcia, nor what has become of his
household."

"As to Garcia," said Gregson, "that is easily answered. He was
found dead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from
his home. His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a
sandbag or some such instrument, which had crushed rather than
wounded. It is a lonely corner, and there is no house within a
quarter of a mile of the spot. He had apparently been struck
down first from behind, but his assailant had gone on beating him
long after he was dead. It was a most furious assault. There
are no footsteps nor any clue to the criminals."